Haterade - Patrick Webster Blog #3

I’m an angry old man at heart. Even though I’ve been alive only a fifth of a century, I have enough built-up aggression and distaste for the next (my) generation that I will challenge anyone to a “Get Off My Lawn” contest. Long-barreled shotgun and rocking-chair aside, I go about my day to day life as a normal, mild-mannered, passive-aggressive man, taking in all the bullshit without so much as a frown or movement of the finger, only to go home and enter a tirade of amazing retorts and brilliant hate, usually finishing in hours of crying and a quart of ice-cream, naked in the shower. But sometimes, there is that rare event that transforms my basal hate levels into raging, Revelation-style quantities of God-fearing wrath. I know in the long run it isn’t healthy nor desirable to stay this angry; “An eye for an eye leaves the whole word blind”, after all. But what Ghandi didn’t understand is that for some people, the satisfaction of knowing that your enemy can’t see either is all you need to stumble through your day.

Recently, the nuclear threat that is my undying disdain for stupid people was given an isolated atoll in the South Pacific to test out its nuclear might. I don't think I need to tell you at this point that my anger fuels metaphors to make your mind bleed, but bear with me. I was riding my bike on the road by the Media Theater, when suddenly a rare beast was summoned into existence, the dreaded Cuntbagel™. Riding up the hill, slow as a cardiac patient on a stationary bike, basking in the sounds that resonate in the vacuum that is his brain, he decides to share his pathetic existence with the opposite lane of traffic. My muscular, powerful self, cruising fast through the crowds, nimble as a gazelle and gift to God's eye, didn’t have time to shift attention from the mysteries of the universe and my sheer awesomeness, to allow for this unfeasible event to be more than a dream. And so my bike and his bike collided, the pain of hitting the pavement masked by the sudden rage I felt inside. After the apology and understanding of fault from him, that came in the form of “You OK?”, he immediately said that he would need my information so that I could pay for the damage. In that instant my hatred for his existence was beckoned from the gates of Hell, and I responded in turn: “It is so unfortunate that the atoms that make you up could have been used to make a beautiful tree, or playful squirrel, yet instead I have to stare at your paltry excuse for a creature, and wonder why the universe would make such a appalling error.” Having undermined his very existence to the cosmos, utterly baffled by my sharp and witty retort, he disappeared. Through the steam of the shower, I noticed my ice cream was all gone.